


Don't Let Me Let Go

by FuryBeam136



Series: Hanahaki is Fury’s Shit [5]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, But Mostly Hurt, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, because I love him, felix suffers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-27 02:08:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20752580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryBeam136/pseuds/FuryBeam136
Summary: Felix keeps to himself. He has no real attachments to anybody, because why would he need them? He needs nothing but the strength to keep fighting. He has his own health and strength and he needs nothing else.And then Sylvain, the damned persistent bastard, has to go and ruin that.





	Don't Let Me Let Go

Felix keeps to himself. He has no real attachments to anybody, because why would he need them? He needs nothing but the strength to keep fighting. He has his own health and strength and he needs nothing else.

And then Sylvain, the damned persistent bastard, has to go and ruin that. Has to start taking him by the hand and showing him things and trying to get him a girl. Felix doesn’t want a girl, of course. But he’s not about to tell that to Sylvain. Partially because then Sylvain will start introducing him to guys and, well, Felix doesn’t particularly want that either. Felix doesn’t want any sort of attachment, It’s really not about gender here.

But Sylvain has managed to somehow get under his skin in a way no one else ever has. Felix doesn’t know how to deal with it, doesn’t think he ever will. The way Sylvain’s mere presence gets him worked up, stressed out like no one else can make him feel. And it doesn’t get any better because suddenly Sylvain’s presence is enough to make his chest burn as though someone has poured acid over his heart and lungs.

The burn eventually settles into a persistent cough, and Felix assumes he’s come down with something. Nothing serious, of course. There’s no way Felix could have come down with anything serious.

He does notice it’s somewhat more bearable around Sylvain, but he attributes that to the other man’s concerned, gentle movements around him. Felix isn’t sure why Sylvain treats him like he’s made of glass, and he hates it, but right now, while he’s feeling sore and miserable, it’s a welcome change from the cold ignorance of the others. Or maybe an unwelcome change. Felix really can’t seem to tell. Feelings are difficult and foreign to him. He doesn’t think he likes them. And dammit, but Felix is cold, and Sylvain’s arms are just so warm…

It doesn’t take long for his condition to worsen. Felix is coughing more and more, and Sylvain has noted that the swordsman is running hotter than usual. Felix doesn’t know how exactly to respond. He just feels so goddamn cold, and as much as he tries to push Sylvain away he just can’t muster the strength or the willpower to get himself out of Sylvain’s warm embrace.

No one else notices, and who could blame them? It’s not like they have any reason to care. Felix is doing a good job of keeping them at arm’s length, and he’s going to keep it that way. They don’t notice the extra layers of clothing underneath his armor to keep the chill away, they barely notice his coughing fits, and they certainly don’t notice his dizzy spells because why would they? He’s doing a great job of hiding everything.

Until he isn’t.

It’s in battle when his body finally gives up on him. He’s been fighting despite the dizzy spells and the coughs wracking his body, but then he’s standing and putting a bandit in his place and without any memory of the in between, he’s lying crumpled and shivering on the ground while Sylvain drives back the men trying to take advantage of his vulnerable state.

Felix coughs violently into his arm, curling around the searing pain in his chest. When the coughing finally subsides, a small cluster of tiny purple petals flutter away in the breeze. Everything aches and he can’t help but whimper pitifully when Sylvain tries to help him up.

“Felix? You alright? Come on, answer me. Please?” Sylvain’s voice, concerned, afraid. “Felix, please. You’re gonna be okay, just say something.”

“I’m… I’m fine,” Felix grunts hoarsely, though he leans heavily on Sylvain for balance. Is he even balanced at all? He thinks he might be falling in some direction but his equilibrium is all off and all he can do is hide his face in Sylvain’s shoulder.

“You’re not fine,” comes the harsh, cold voice of Manuela. “You’re incredibly ill, and you should have told someone.”

Felix wants to protest, but finds himself unable. It doesn’t matter anyway. He knows Manuela. She’ll just drag him into the infirmary whether he likes it or not. Maybe it’s for the best that he lets Sylvain all but carry him off the battlefield. He isn’t sure, though. His face and his chest are burning. Manuela’s hands are firm, and Felix winces away from her touch.

He blacks out again, long enough to come to in the infirmary. Someone is beside him, stroking his hair, and Felix doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s Sylvain. Maybe he can just lie here a little longer, pretend to be asleep. The feeling of Sylvain’s gentle touch is somewhat pleasant, though Felix would never admit it to anyone else. But he knows how well the redhead knows him, and knows he can totally tell he’s awake, so he grumbles and pushes Sylvain’s hand away halfheartedly. Sylvain’s laugh is almost worth it. Almost.

It’s definitely not worth the next coughing fit that send Felix into a ball of misery and pain, clutching his chest as if he could hold it together. As if he could hold his pride together. Sylvain is stroking his back and Felix can’t say it is really helping with any of this but he doesn’t have the strength to push away such a gesture at the moment.

It’s not until he feels the warmth of white magic that Felix stops coughing, though he remains curled into a tight ball as if maybe, just maybe, if he makes himself small enough whoever it is won’t know it’s him. Which is completely stupid and irrational, of course they know it’s him. But if he can just pretend that maybe he isn’t him and they can just maybe believe him then he can spare himself the crushing humiliation of being bedridden.

Except none of that is even remotely possible, because Sylvain of all people knows for a fact that it is Felix lying in the fetal position in the infirmary and knowing him, Felix will never live this down. And Manuela knows, of course. There’s no escaping his fate. Everyone is going to know.

Fortunately, in this specific instance, it’s Mercedes who is casting white magic. Felix will not admit it, barely admits it to himself, but he has no hard feelings towards Mercedes, and maybe even likes her a little bit. Just not enough to befriend her, because befriending her means getting attached to someone and he vowed he would never do that again. Except he has, hasn’t he? Felix has broken the promise he made himself and grown attached to Sylvain all over again. Damn it. He’s a fool.

Mercedes smiles at him with all the radiance of an angel, but Felix just scowls. She might be a saint walking among them, her bright face and earnesty surely points towards her being a holy being of some kind, but that doesn’t mean Felix is going to be nice to her. He couldn’t care less if the goddess were to burn his soul in hellfire for eternity, Felix has no respect for her. After all, she took everything from him. He doesn’t want to dwell on it right now.

“You need to take better care of yourself!” Mercedes chides, and the concern in her tone is not lost on Felix. “You can’t keep overdoing it like this. You need to rest.”

Felix sighs, doesn’t have the energy to fight with her. Still, he can’t just agree to sit back and rest. “There’s no time for that,” he says instead. “I have things to do.”

“Felix, come on,” Sylvain _begs,_ and since when did Sylvan beg for anything but a girl going on a date with him? “You gotta start taking care of yourself, or you’re going to end up-”

“Shut up,” Felix snaps, gritting his teeth and trying to shut out all the memories that unfinished sentence stirs in him. “I’m fine. I can take care of myself, you’re not helping.” Silvain looks hurt and something in Felix’s chest _aches,_ but he can’t let the emotions catch up to him, can’t let himself cry. “I was doing fine and then you dragged me out of my routine and- and-” and Felix can’t finish the sentence because his chest constricts and he can’t breathe and he’s coughing so hard he suspects he’s going to be spitting up blood any minute now.

Mercedes’ magic soothes the ache just enough, but Felix doesn’t say another word. He can hear Sylvain apologizing but it doesn’t matter at this point. Something cold and dark is gripping his heart, his lungs, his vocal chords, and Felix just flinches away from the touch he found so comforting just moments before. There’s something wrong with him, and he can’t afford for something to be wrong with him. So he stands, ignoring the dizziness that causes him to sway on his feet, and he runs. He isn’t sure where he’s going but he knows he needs to get out of here.

He runs and he runs until he can’t get any further, until he stumbles and falls somewhere he shouldn’t be. He hides himself from the world and when Sylvain walks past his corner calling his name, his heart clenches painfully but he doesn’t move a muscle.

He isn’t sure how long it takes for someone to find him, and he isn’t sure if he’s glad or disappointed that it’s not Sylvain. It’s Byleth, because of course it is, and they don’t say anything, don’t ask him to say anything, just crouch beside him and sigh softly, offering him their hand. Felix doesn’t move, isn’t sure he _can_ move. He just feels so tired.

Byleth shakes their head and pulls him to his feet. Felix doesn’t sway, doesn’t move, just stands stiffly by his teacher’s side. Byleth guides him to his room, and as soon as they close the door behind him he slumps against it. There are tears in his eyes, and he doesn’t have the strength to fight them off, not now.

He sits, crying far too silently, his back against the door and his body stiff as a board.

Something is wrong with him.

What’s wrong with him?

Why can’t he just _breathe?_

Felix screams loud enough he feels the whole world ought to hear.

He isn’t sure how long it’s been when he finally comes back to himself. He isn’t sure what happened in between either, but Sylvain is here, holding him to his chest, and Felix can hear a heartbeat so much steadier than his own. His throat burns, probably from screaming. He doesn’t remember much, but he does remember screaming.

“I’m sorry,” Sylvain murmurs, and Felix doesn’t know how to respond, so he just sits in confused silence. “I shouldn’t have- well, you know.”

Felix hums noncommittally. He feels empty, too much so to really respond. Sylvain’s fingers card through his hair. Felix can’t find it in himself to complain, nor can he find it in himself to enjoy the feeling. He just feels so empty and cold, and Sylvain is warmth and love and so many things Felix wants but will never deserve.

He coughs weakly, and a handful of tiny purple petals flutter to the floor between him and Sylvain. The redhead doesn’t say a word.

Felix finds himself wanting to hear Sylvain speak. Wanting to breathe in his scent and dig himself further into Sylvain’s arms. But that would be highly inappropriate of him and it would give Sylvain the idea that he’s into him and he’s not into Sylvain. He’s _not._

“Please say something to me, Felix,” Sylvain sighs. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if you don’t tell me.”

“Shut up,” Felix grumbles, but there’s no venom in his voice. “Just…” he can barely force the words out of his mouth, but he manages somehow. “Just stay.”

“Of course.”

Felix lets himself settle into Sylvain’s warm embrace, which chases the chill and the stiffness from his bones. He can’t help the way his eyes flutter shut, and his body begins to slow down. He’s just so goddamn tired.

“Just rest, Felix. You haven’t been doing it nearly enough.”

For a moment before he slips away, the darkness feels like a time long past. A simpler time. A better time, or maybe a worse time. It’s so hard to tell.

The moment is gone before Felix can even begin to ponder it.

Felix wakes up alone, and he’s grateful for it. He doesn’t think he can deal with Sylvain right now. He isn’t sure he’ll be ready to deal with Sylvain ever.

He leans over a trash can and heaves violently, far too many of the tiny petals coming up. They smell sickly sweet and he groans. He’s going to end up having to research these flowers, isn’t he? It’s annoying. He hates the idea of scouring the library for books on botany, but it doesn’t look like he has much of a choice.

He’s just so cold and he doesn’t understand _why,_ because the winters in Faerghus were so much worse than this and he should be fine right now. As it is, he’s freezing, so he draws a blanket around his shoulders and leaves his room slowly, careful not to be seen.

No one catches him going to the library, but once he’s there, eyes are immediately on him. He tries in vain to deter anyone from commenting on his presence by shooting them a glare when they get too close. Lysithea doesn’t seem to care what he wants, because she approaches him as soon as he’s started looking over the shelves.

“It’s weird to see you here,” she says with something akin to amusement. “And it’s especially weird to see you here like this.” He glares, but knows it’s not as harsh as he wants it to be. “You couldn’t possibly have expected to go unnoticed trailing a blanket around like that.”

“It’s fucking cold,” Felix grunts.

“It’s really not,” she shrugs, “but whatever. Taking an interest in gardening, huh?”

“No,” Felix says sharply. “This is none of your business.”

Lysithea leaves him alone, finally, but once he’s sat down with a pile of books, he doesn’t miss the way she pointedly adds another to the stack. He doesn’t say anything, and neither does she. Which is good, because Felix doesn’t want to talk to her.

He does, however, skim through the book she handed him, and what he sees makes him go still as a statue and reread the pages over and over because there’s no way this is right, it can’t be. But there’s no other explanation because the petals he’s been coughing up are from a perfectly normal flower the definitely doesn’t grow in human bodies.

Felix moves slowly, almost in a trance, as he puts the books back on the shelves. He can’t believe it. But he has no alternative.

He doesn’t hold the book in his hands anymore but those words won’t leave him the hell alone and he can’t breathe, there are tears threatening to fall and he runs, not slowing down even as the blanket falls away from his shoulders and settles over the courtyard. He runs and he runs until he’s found his room, at which point he locks himself inside.

The tears overflow no matter what he does to stop them and he’s panicking, he’s losing his mind, everything is going so wrong so fast. He doesn’t want to die. He can’t die here. Not like this. Not choking on the embodiment of his feelings for someone he can never have.

Felix doesn’t even move to answer when someone knocks at his door, doesn’t do anything but scream and beg when Sylvain’s worried voice filters through it. He can’t let him in because it will only make things worse. If he just keeps pushing and pushing then no one will want to talk to him and he can be alone as long as he has to be in order to get over this.

Sylvain begs and begs to be let in and Felix doesn’t know what else to do but cry. He feels disgusting, weak, as the tears flow down his face and he screams at Sylvain just to get away, to leave him be. He doesn’t want to hurt his only friend. But no matter what he does he’s going to hurt him, and that hurts so much.

Felix doesn’t want to hurt anyone else, so he doesn’t leave his room. He tries to pretend that he isn’t noticing the knocks at the door, Sylvain’s desperate pleas for him to say something, anything. Tries to ignore the people who’ve seen him, pale and haggard, opening his door just to take the plate of food Byleth left there for him. His professor is really too kind. They don’t need to know how much of the food ends up coming back up with the petals, though. No one needs to know.

He thought isolating himself would make it better, but it only seems to be making it worse. Felix eventually finds himself in a position where he can barely move, and can’t keep any of the food he’s being provided from coming back up moments later alongside a cascade of petals and blood. He starts leaving the meals outside the door and wishing he could just get over himsef. Just get over Sylvain.

It’s not nearly long enough before Sylvain is slamming against the door and screaming for Felix to let him in. Felix wants to, at this point. He really does. But he just can’t seem to move. He just sits there and cries and wishes he could force words past the petals in his throat.

The world fades away and the last thing Felix hears is Sylvain screaming his name.

He doesn’t expect to wake up this time, and yet he does. Sylvain is leaning over him and there are tears in his eyes and Felix doesn’t know what to do except let his own sobs break out of his chest and fall into the redhead’s arms.

“Felix, goddess, you scared me… I was so scared I was gonna lose you, I didn’t know what I was gonna do…”

“I’m sorry,” Felix mumbles. He’s so bad at this, so pitiful and awful and-

“I love you, Felix. I love you.” Sylvain’s tears are soaking into Felix’s hair but he can’t bring himself to care. “And I know there’s no way you love me back but I can’t help it, you’re just so damn perfect.”

“Sylvain you fucking idiot. I love you too. So fucking much, it’s killing me.”

Felix finds himself smiling just a little bit as Sylvain pulls him close and laughs loudly and brightly. He lies against Sylvain’s chest and just relishes in the warmth he feels after all that time of cold and loneliness.

“Well, if it kills you, it’ll kill me as well,” Sylvain says, and his tone is serious. “I swear it to you.”  
Felix can’t help but let the tears he’s been holding back all these years flow freely in an ugly swell of unrestrained emotion.


End file.
